


Worms of the Truth

by Integral_of_Awesome



Category: Original Work
Genre: Childhood, Gen, No Dialogue, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:23:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Integral_of_Awesome/pseuds/Integral_of_Awesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why do they always eat the worm?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worms of the Truth

Why do they always eat the worm? 

The "cool" kids saunter over and propose a dare, unpalatable and yet riveting, but I can't deduce who would do such a thing, no matter the splendor. It may be a challenge from them, the highest, the prime, but what esteem do you expect to earn? 

Perhaps, I speculate, you notice some obscured spoil I am blind to. Perhaps, I fantasize, you quest after a treasure greater than my puerile mind can unravel. Yet, I know there is no abstruse target, premium, or gold. I know you seek that which you will never acquire. I myself am but a lowly peasant, my fingers curled in the grass and my hair in a guileless disarray, but even I see that this will not make you their playfellow. Even I see that malicious glint in their jaded eyes. 

I warn you that it will only make you ill, but you insist that I know nothing of such delicate matters of state and proceed with determination and most delightful drive. You kick a life of dirt and foolhardy games behind you with long, assured steps. You wade through the sea of children already beginning to form. You hoist your arms high in the air like a gladiator about to brave his lion. 

I might have gleamed a bit of pride at your conviction if I did not know what would become of you.

You see, my poor, dear friend, you may think I know nothing of these tournaments, but I have been observing from the corner of my sun-squinted eyes, and I have perceived what befall the others. I saw them hasten to the nurse; I saw their parents come to pick them up in multiple stages of worry and anger. I try to tell you this, try to make you fathom, but you won't hear a word I say. And so you, like all the rest, fall.

And, again, I ask, "Why do they always eat the worm?" 

I feel certain in myself that I would not complete such a task upon being asked. I would more likely spit in the dastardly face that dared propose such a volatile venture than simply stoop to the deeming demand. But you, with your left braid unwinding and your right sneaker scuffed beyond repair, shirk off your childish frivolities and swallow that slime as if it were a Truly Noble Action.

I try to look away, try not to see you clutch your stomach and scurry a path my eyes have worn well, but I would have known with or without my sight what fate awaited you. 

After all, they always eat the worm.


End file.
